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twodaysintojune · 5 years

Text

Love Letters

Supernatural, Dean Winchester / Reader

Long Stories Masterlist, One Shots Masterlist

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There was a craft, a tradition in your town that had been passed through generations by now. It had started out of necessity, being done by the few literate at the new small populated settlement.

Eventually, the town grew, people began to get schooled and although there was no need for your services anymore it didn't stop people from asking for them.

You wrote letters. Not the daily kind of letters for when the milkman owed the farmer money, those were written by the people who wanted to write them. The letters that you wrote were different, special. You wrote birthday wishes and eulogies and goodwill notes but the more important type of letters you wrote, the ones you were famous for, were proposal letters.

No one knows how the tradition started, some say that it was thanks to a nobleman that, passing by on his way to meet a fiancé, asked for the services of the scribe to write such type of letter with the intention to woo her and after that the entire town wanted to do the same. You're not so sure about the veracity of the story but nobody really cared about the details of old stories anyway.

What mattered was that ever since you were a child you knew what you were gonna do when you grew up. It was not so much that you had your path set for yourself but by your family, the scribes of the town. Heck, your last name was the literal word for scribe.

In a way, it was good. You were not much for going outside and unlike many ladies of the town, your education was tilted towards reading and writing more than anything else. Sewing? Cooking? Cleaning? As long as you didn't suck at it your family was content and the moment someone desired to become a prospect for marriage then that person would have to fulfill those requirements in accordance to the Scribe tradition.

In other ways it was a bit of a lonely career. The time you destined to be outside and socialize was scarce and you could spend literal weeks without going out of the house since all your purchases were delivered at your doorstep. For two years after you finished your basic studies, you were meant to study writing, prose and poetry and to read more than a decent amount of books to enrich your vocabulary. You were also tasked with the transcription of the old book registry, which meant copying old letters written by the family that were considered of good taste for future reference as well as novels and other written paraphernalia that your family had gathered with years and years in the trade.

You were not supposed to start writing anything for the public yet but this had been an emergency of sorts. Both your mother and father had been called by an Earl to show off their skills in a banquet to last fourteen days and so, when the distressed lady arrived you were forced to act on your own.

“Please! I desperately need your help! I need a letter, right now.”

Despite explaining to her that it was impossible at the moment she insisted until you barged.

“I must insist Mylady that my skill might not be the best and beg you for forgiveness towards my poor experience at word weaving.”

“It doesn’t matter, anything will do as long as it is written right now.”

You frowned a little at this statement but sat in front of her at the writer’s desk.

“Very well, who is the person destined for these words?”

“Yes, his name is Dean Winchester.”

The name was new, you had never heard of this man but soon you learned everything about him that the woman loved, his gentleness while faring with ladies, his rowdyness while dealing with men. You could tell that she was infatuated but realized that it was not your position to ask her to step back for a second to consider her own feelings about this man. You wrote the letter diligently with a genteel rose coloured ink of her choice, gave it to the lady for her to read and review and, once she approved of it you charged your fee and carefully placed and folded the letter inside a rose powdered envelope. Finishing all with a dark rose seal.

By the next day you were dreamily looking out of the window and wondering if the girl had any luck. Tired of copying down old books and letters you couldn’t help but pry in curiosity when a man came in.

“Excuse me, I wish to write a love letter.”

After explaining once more about your mother and father’s absence, the man also requested your services nonetheless and, faced towards hours of copying down text you took the easy leeway and sat down in front of the man.

“What is the name of the person?”

“Dean Winchester.”

The name called your attention but you said nothing. Today you learned about the man’s skills at sword fighting and brawling. Of his prowess in all manly matters. Today the letter of dark ink was closed with a forest green seal and sandalwood powder.

Later in the evening, probably an hour before closing the shop another customer came in and now Dean Winchester was laureated with ease of speech and easier smiles. Now the letter holding the person’s feelings was written in bright emerald and sealed with a similar tone of green wax. Non-scented.

As the week passed, more people arrived, all of them asking for letters with the same addressee. You saw all configurations of colour and scent those frantic days. Lavender powder with midnight blue ink, dark crimson and roses, some went for the most formal black ink and red wax and the most extravagant and expensive one had been a gold speckled auburn ink used only on very special occasions dusted with frankincense and a gold seal of wax.

It was astounding for you to see just the sheer amount of people this man had managed to woo in such a short time considering his recent arrival to the town. Some talked about his gallantry, some about his bluntness, some about the way he presented his handkerchief, which you considered was a fairly ridiculous reason to fall for someone but still kept your mouth shut. It was your job to write, not to be a counselor.

By the end of the week you had written a total of twenty six love letters and refused to write eight more of people that had apparently been flatly turned down by the mysterious man but still wanted to insist. The frankincense lady was included on that list to your surprise. Your parents would either be quite proud or appalled but you didn’t care much about it. You were carefully storing all the inks used through the day back in their shelf when the door opened. You turned to greet the customer and stilled in your steps.

The man was tall or at least taller than you. He was wearing the traditional garb of knightmen of the court and held his sword proudly by his side. His short spiked hair and full lips gave him an air of youth despite the fact he was apparently a well seasoned fighter and his thick eyelashes highlighted the deep fern green of his eyes. He finally turned to look at you and also stood still for a second but managed to strut nonchalantly towards you.

“So this is the place everyone’s talking about.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve heard a lot about this place by now, and you must be Miss Scribe.”

“That I am” You placed your hand on his to have it kissed. You couldn’t help blushing while seeing the action, he was gorgeous and unlike any man you had ever seen. “And if you’re here then I believe you’re looking for a proposal letter?”

The man looked at you from below with a spark in his eyes.

“Perhaps I am.”

#fanfiction #fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #dean winchester #dean winchester/you #dean winchester/reader #y/n

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